This is a quickie.
This story is pure fiction written to explore sexual fantasies without the moral and ethical constraints of real life. It purposefully ignores real world consequences of unprotected sex with random partners. In your non-fiction life, you should obviously take suitable precautions and treat people with respect.
If you are not legal age to read erotic fiction, please leave now and do not continue reading. For everyone else, I hope that you enjoy it and have fun. Constructive feedback is welcome.
All materials presented herein copyright the author.
Back when I still had a landline my phone was on the fritz. It would crackle and cut out when I was using it, a real pain in the ass, so I contacted the company to send someone over to look at it. Three days later someone finally showed up.
The technician was a bit younger than me, probably in his early forties, with a close-trimmed salt and pepper beard and a thick, stocky build. His dark buzzcut looked good for the shape of his head and he had the bluest eyes with thick dark lashes. I could see his chest hair peeking from the top of his button up uniform.
It had been a while since I had noticed a guy in this way. Maybe it was because my wife and kids were away visiting her parents, and I hadn't been laid in a couple of weeks. Maybe because my porn consumption had spiked and a steady diet of hard cocks pounding pussy had reminded me of how much I used to crave dick. Or maybe it was the way I could see his basket twitch when he looked me up and down, taking in my nipples poking through my t-shirt and my own cock flopping around in my gym shorts.
I had been in the middle of my morning calisthenics routine when the doorbell rang. When I'm alone I like to do it naked in advance of a nice long stroke session, so the surprise "ding-dong" sent me scrambling for whatever clothes were nearby.
We stood at the front door eyeing each other up for about 20 seconds before he cleared his throat and announced he was here to fix the phone. I led him inside to the basement where the phone/cable box connected to the fiber-op. He put his tools down and started poking around at the connections. As he reached for a screwdriver, I saw his gold wedding band and sighed internally. Whatever spark I imagined to be between us would probably be held in check by the rings we each wore on our left hand.
I went upstairs and left him to his work, hoping he wouldn't be too long so I could rub one out imagining what might have been. Ten minutes later he appeared in the kitchen where I was washing dishes and said the connections were shorting because the basement was too damp. He recommended installing a dehumidifier but said the problem was fixed for now.